Hey Mom,

Just saved Thanksgiving in Spencerville! 😎🍗 Uncovered the mystery of the shredded decorations and missing food – it was a huge Dane looking for friendship. Taught him the paw-sitive way, now he’s part of the pack! Our parade was epic, tails held high & hearts full. Spreading cheer & gobbling treats. Kirby, the gentlebulldog detective, wins the day! 🕵️🐾

Love,
Kirby

Listen to the story here

Greetings, esteemed two-legger or four-pawed compatriot! I’m Kirby, the English Bulldog with the disposition of a jester and the fortitude of an armoured tank, albeit one covered in fetching white and black-spotted fur. I’m certain my heroic deeds have reached your ears… or at least, your keen nose.

Spencerville was awash with excitement, swathed in festive ribbons and the heady aroma of Tail Waggers’ turkey specials, as we prepped for our annual Thanksgiving Day parade. However, there was more afoot than the joyous prancing of paws on the parade route—we sniffed out trouble, and it smelt suspiciously like unscooped business.

Decorations were ripped to shreds, floats were ransacked with a meticulous fury, and our feast! Alas, portions of it vanished faster than treats from my own dish during a growling stomach episode. ‘Twas a caper ripe for the solving, and who better than this stocky sleuth to unravel such a tangle?

Enlisting my finest four-legged comrades, we embarked on a tail-wagging trove of discoveries, our nosy snouts to the ground, sniffing out clues amid the leaf-littered lanes of Silver Siberian Summit. We galloped across Labradoodle Lake’s reflective serenity, our ears alert for the perpetrator’s missteps.

The villain, as it turned out, was not some dark-hearted mongrel or shadow-cloaked feline but a downtrodden Dane of menacing stature, an outcast who longed for the embrace of our warm, turkey-scented circle. A misunderstood behemoth who merely wished to join our ranks, and who had been caninically incorrect in his methods.

The twist revealed itself not in the shedding of fur, but in the revealing of hearts. Instead of the snip of the correction collar, we extended a paw in fellowship, turning those destroyer’s paws into decorator’s wares. His talents, once aimed to tear us asunder, now set to bolster our bond.

He festooned floats with an artist’s zeal, previously foreign at the Furry Friends Art Gallery; nibbled cunningly on The Doggy Bagel Deli’s delights with renewed purpose. The rascal became a resource, and our battle turned into a banquet of blessings.

In the end, we, the grand parade of pups, pranced down Western Husky Hill, our tails loftier than any extravagant float. The town beamed, its heart swollen like a tick on a lazy summer’s day—but in a good way, the way that makes you want to roll over and expose your belly to the world.

This Thanksgiving wasn’t just about the fancy footwork of show dogs or the savoring of sumptuous feasts; it was about the inclusion that makes any pack stronger. The villain? No longer misbranded. As the parade concluded, the communal jubilee unfurled with all the triumph of a successfully chased tail. We learned, we loved, and above all else, we gleefully overate.

And there I was, in the thick of it—Kirby, the splotch-eared knight without a sword, but with a heart as grand as Spencerville itself, knowing that every morsel of goodness starts with a single wag. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to conquer the remnants of a goldfish cracker feast. Cheers!

The End.